


Wildflowers of the Crossroads

by dawnstonedagger



Series: Wildflowers of Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eluvians, Espionage, F/M, Flirting, Minrathous, No Smut, Past Relationship(s), Plotting To Save The World, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Too Many Eluvians, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedagger
Summary: Ladarelan Lavellan had never thought to see Felassan again, and much had changed in her life since their tryst - including becoming Inquisitor and losing her arm to Fen'Harel. The return favor the mysterious elf had in store for her, however, was certainly worth it.





	Wildflowers of the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theneras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theneras/gifts).



> This is a an AU where Felassan is very much alive, and is a companion piece to [_Wildflowers of the Marches_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8042815/chapters/18421201). :D

Entering the magically-lit room beyond, cautiously, Ladarelan felt back behind her to make certain the eluvian had not closed.

Her fingers tingled like they were passing through some strange dream of wind and water, and she pulled it back swiftly, not keen on losing her remaining hand; it didn’t close, she wasn’t trapped, wherever here was—yet.

The hastily scrawled map her agent gave her wasn’t exactly precise, but it certainly looked like an ancient storeroom—chests and crates piled in a neat stacks against the far wall, the stasis spells on them undisturbed. The stale air around her smelled of ancient incense, stone, and dust. She could see another eluvian, inactive, but glowing slightly, across the vaulted chamber. To her right, a dark archway waited, with a staircase leading upwards, beyond.

Very well then, two exits, no discernible windows, definite signs of a person or people passing through—she was in the right place. The shod footprints in the dust were obvious, no attempt made to obscure them, but she noticed on second glance what looked like a recently disarmed trap at the base of the stairs. A thread of smoke still wound up from its compromised innards. 

She adjusted her prosthetic, and activated the barrier rune worked into the lyrium-and-metal construct which, for purposes of battle, had become her left arm. Crossing the room quickly, she ran up the stairs two at a time.

As expected, she had company.

With only a brief glimpse of the beautiful elven shrine within, her vision was washed in magical fire. The powerful flames pushed her back, and scorched the stones around her. Ladarelan could already feel mana being drawn from the Fade, for a second attack.

Someone had beaten her here, and they were a very formidable mage. Strangely, their magic felt familiar.

Cursing, she stepped back, using the stairwell as partial cover. She didn’t want the room damaged or destroyed, before she had the chance to look around. Ladarelan held out her metal arm, and gritting her teeth, she activated a rune she usually avoided using.

The golden shrine was flooded with blue-white light, and the world around her became heavy and thick. The Fade retreated like water down a drain.

She heard the mage hiding somewhere in the room beyond, curse prolifically in elvish. Her temper flared. He had to be one of Solas’ agents.

Peeking in again, she could see the edge of a cloak, behind one of the ornate room’s central pillars. Confident her barrier would hold, Ladarelan rushed in, the bladed end of her stave up so that she could round it on him. The hooded elf was ready for her, though, and blocked her forceful attack with his own stave, managing to pull her around and nearly topple her. She kept her feet, narrowly, and they traded blows that made her hand and wrist sting. Pushed back, she danced around to the other side of the pillar.

She gathered her strength to face him head on, ready to strike, again, but then the mage stopped, hopped back a few steps himself, and barked a bitter laugh.

“Sweet Sylaise, is fate ever unkind,” he said, and pushed back his hood.

A familiar face, but older, and tired-looking. His violet eyes had more lines around them, his dark hair threaded with grey, but still the same man she had met a decade ago. Back when the only title she held claim to was First of Clan Lavellan.

“Felassan?” She disliked how her voice sounded high, and almost vulnerable. Initial shock gone, she returned to a proper stance, ready to move, ready to strike. She didn't know what he was doing here, but if he was working for Solas...

“That is a… very powerful dispel rune you have there.” He seemed to be taking a good look at her, and what the Dread Wolf had wrought on his most recent failure. What she would bring down on Solas' head, if he didn’t come around to see reason. “Nice arm.”

“The dwarf who made it for me wanted me to be able to smite a god. So, yes, yes it is. Neither of us will be able to cast for a bit,” she said. Glancing around, she counted the golden idols circling the room. One representing each of the Evanuris stood in each alcove. All but for Fen’Harel.

The altar seemed intact, but she did not see the artifact she had hoped would still be there. She tried not to let her disappointment show. Perhaps he had it already.

Felassan sighed, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, creating a weak spark. “Yes, I noticed. I didn't expect to see you in person, Inquisitor. Or is it just Ladarelan, now? I do like that name better. Reminds me of an old song.”

“A song? It's a pity we don't have time for me to hear it. I seem to recall Solas didn't seem to have time for such frivolity, either.”

“Perhaps he would, if you caught him at the right moment. You know how he is.” Felassan shrugged.

“Entirely too well,” Ladarelan snapped, rage boiling up white-hot in her belly.

Her expression must have been alarming, for Felassan took a step back. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me go without a fight?” He twirled his stave, and tested the air again, getting a bigger spark this time.

“I suppose I do still owe you for the flowers. I missed you, you know, when you didn’t show up. Had a nice day all to myself. The waterfall was just as pretty as I remembered it. Funny that, so are you,” she confessed.

Once upon a summer’s day, after a chance meeting, she’d passed a pleasant afternoon with him. Just a brief dalliance, and yet she’d still thought of him from time to time.

Felassan snorted, holding his stave steady. “I can see now, how I will finally die. You, with your tongue like silver getting my guard down, again, until I let you ravish me and my enemies jump from the shadows.” He was grinning, but his posture told her he was also ready to run her through, if she made the wrong move.

She smiled back. “I thought it was fairly mutual ravishment. And how could a delightful man like you have enemies? Surely no one could stay angry at you for long.”

“You would be surprised. Some people are capable of holding a grudge for five thousand years.”

She cocked her head to the side, reminded again that before the Veil existed, some of the people she was fighting considered a year or two as fleeting as she considered hours. “That is a very long time—though if you’re talking about the Evanuris, perhaps the grudge is well-earned. So “Felassan”, if that’s your real name, just how old are you?”

“You know, I honestly don’t remember. It never really mattered.”

“I know you've worked for him. Give me one reason not to kill you here and now, _harellan_ ,” she said, pronouncing it as the Dalish did, so he’d know she was calling him a traitor.

“Ouch, you wound me. Honestly, I’m trying to stop the end of the world.”

“Which world is that? The one where I’m the wrong kind of people?” She wished she could believe him, but too much was at stake. “I haven’t met a single one of the old elvhen who can give an answer, without burying it in three layers of alternate understandings. Forgive me if I am extremely skeptical.”

He sighed. “You’re not wrong, but I am allowed to have a change of heart.”

“As is your leader, _ma falon_ , but I doubt either of us will live to see that stubborn ass change. Tell me what you’re really doing here. I can use my lovely dispel rune repeatedly, in case you’re wondering." She held her arm out, making it glow. She could do several other things with it as well, but she didn’t need to show him all of her cards.

“I am, I repeat, like you, trying to avert the untold death and destruction that my _former_ leader is trying to set in motion.”

Ladarelan held her stance, shaking her head. Even if he didn’t work for Solas, he had to be working for someone. “You didn’t answer my question—but I’ll bite. So, how is your plan different than ours?”

“Well, for one, a lot fewer elves die in my plan. That is what we’re trying to do right? Fight for something better for our people?”

“I am hoping to protect all of Thedas, not just a handpicked few. Now tell me why you’re here, unless you set all of this up yourself,” she said. Judging by his frown, her remark landed somewhere near the truth.

Felassan lowered his stave, and closed the distance between them with long strides. They could both feel the magic seeping back in and around them, making the air lighter, more comfortable. Looming, he stood within inches of her outstretched metal hand, and she did not make to cast a blow at him.

“I will admit I’ve been keeping an eye on some of your operations to help me find what we were both looking for. But you’re right, no one wins if we all get blasted back to the Ancient age,” he said, leaning in closer.

“Go on,” she said. Her anger that once again she’d managed to have her organization infiltrated, was held in check only by her curiosity.

His voice went to almost a whisper. “So, first of all, if you want my help, you never saw me,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be alive. Second, this whole mess is even bigger than you know, and this—” He pulled a dark, round object, which glowed faintly green out from a pocket inside his cloak. “This is too dangerous to be left to you, or to him. Third, meet me at the statue of Hessarian, outside the city gates in two days, around sunrise. If you’re not followed, I’ll have something that can help you. _Ir abelas, lethallan_. I can’t stay,” he said, as she gasped, trying to take in all he’d said.

“Felassan, this isn’t a ga—”

She noticed the regret in his expression, too late. Without raising his hand, he cast a spell she didn’t have time to counter. Just a simple flash of light, but so intense that she cried out, blinded.

Spots swimming in her teary eyes, flailing, Ladarelan dropped her stave and fell back against the column. She heard soft steps retreating quickly, felt another pull of magic. The eluvian sang as he slipped away.

Cursing, she took an elfroot potion from her belt and dumped it over her face like water. Her vision returned instantly as she blinked it away, and she wiped the excess off with the back of her hand. Flustered that she'd let him slip away so easily, she threw the bottle at the wall.

What could she do, now? Listen to him? Trust him? What would have happened if one of her agents had run into him? Killed, or kidnapped to draw her out of hiding?

Ladarelan took a deep breath, and stood and looked at the faces of each of the false gods. Despite knowing the idols held no power, had no influence but what she gave them, their forms were familiar and comforting; after a brief meditation, acknowledging them, remembering the roles they once held in her life, she felt at peace.

All that mattered out of what Felassan had told her, was that he wanted Solas’ plan to fail; that alone made it worth it to go and meet him in two days time.

 

* * *

 

 

Dorian’s friendship and connections had been a great asset during her stay in Tevinter thus far, but the aura of his privileges were less consequential once he and his retinue were absent. As an elf, Ladarelan had to have several documents on her person to travel freely around Minrathous, unescorted, and carrying a weapon.

She managed to get past the great gates with little difficulty, however. Much easier to get out, than to get in, that was certain, for at that point she’d had to make a show of her arrival as an ambassador.

That was not necessary, now; years of living as an important personage in southern Thedas had taught her various ways to disappear and obscure her passage. In this case, she had access to an eluvian, which led inside the storeroom of a small wine shop owned by the Pavus family, just outside the city.

If the Magistrate had any clue how truly vulnerable Minrathous had become, they’d be leaving the city in droves. That, or it would suddenly become illegal to own even the most mundane of reflective surfaces.

It had been more difficult convincing her companions not to follow her. Ladarelan suspected at least one of them might be trying to, even now. For the moment, she was alone.

She slipped out of the dark, empty shop, under the cover of the first dawn shadows, down an alley, and then to the fringes of the plaza. The scent of salt dominated the warm air, and a thin breeze flitted across the Nocen Sea to brush the edges of her hood. Stopping beneath the eaves of a small shop, where she could hear someone sweeping inside, she watched the guard change and waited for the sun to light the tips of the pointed towers on the horizon.

Here, beyond the great rings of Minrathous’ mighty defenses, and the long bridge that connected it to the mainland, lay the outer district on the shore. Almost a city in its own right, but not called as such.

Overlooking all, the huge marble statue of Archon Hessarian towered, looking splendid against the jagged skyline. The city walls sprawling behind him were tinted gold, while the distant prisms and pyramids atop the tallest towers glittered in the first light of morning. The dramatic glow lent the statue the air of guardian as much as it did the silent juggernauts.

Soon, people started trickling out of nearby buildings; some of them washed at the fountains, or began harnessing their animals to pull wagons and carts full of produce and trade goods for the stalls and shops of Minrathous’ merchant district.

She made a slow circle around the base of the statue, and then went to one of the fountains to wash her hands and face. This gave her an excuse to push her hood back; her long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, pointed ears easily visible as she splashed cool water on her skin. No reason to make it difficult for him to pick her out from the early risers milling nearby.

As if summoned, Felassan appeared, tugging at her elbow. Ladarelan had to bite back a gasp, but nodded as he gestured which way they should walk.

Very casually, he looped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her towards what looked like a shabby hookah den—the elven attendant of which, was sleeping on a padded bench by the door, snoring loudly.

Glancing up at Felassan skeptically, Ladarelan said nothing, but took his hand when he offered it. He threaded them through the colorful hangings and low tables, to a back room. There were boxes stacked on boxes, a few broken hookahs, and what was clearly an eluvian in one corner, covered with a rug. Still silent, he closed the door and threw the bolt behind them.

“Is that yours?” Despite knowing that the existence of working eluvians had not yet become common knowledge, their appearance in backrooms and ballrooms had ceased to surprise her.

Felassan shook his head. “Not exactly. Its owner is long deceased, he won’t miss it. Unless a bit of him is still stashed somewhere. It’s been known to happen.”

“So… what did you do with—”

“I fed it to a dragon,” he said, completely deadpan.

“Oh. Well then.” She’d heard stranger tales, and if he didn’t want the artifact found, perhaps that was as good a place as any.

He laughed at her nonplussed expression. “No, no, I promise it’s safe. Well, as safe as anything is in a world like this.” He cast a ward on the room around them, and then pulled the rug off the eluvian. The glass hummed and glowed to life, rippling slightly as he approached whispering something in elvish which she didn’t quite catch.

“Does Solas not have access to this one?” The mirrors she and Dorian had built secretly, were very limited, and looped in on each other. Ideally, to avoid the old paths.

“I’m not sure. Not all of them are connected to the same networks, but all of them can be connected with enough magic. He’d have to know it wasn’t on the network to look for it. Which… he probably is too busy to worry about at the moment.”

“You don’t know for sure.”

“No. I’ve been avoiding direct contact with the Fade when at all possible,” he said. Which explained why he looked so tired. She wondered how long had it been, since he’d been able to properly dream.

“Ah. Well then, let me guess, there’s a beautiful mansion on the other side?” She had yet to go through one which simply brought her to a latrine.

“As a matter of fact—and also not mine.”

“Hopefully a friend’s, though,” she said, noticing then that the well-worn floor beneath them was worked in curling elven mosaic. Much of the ancient elves’ leavings lay beneath the floorboards and foundations of every Tevinter building, though this one seemed to include some sort of house crest—griffons and some manner of serpent twined in a tree.

He nodded. “When they were still alive, yes. Sadly, most of the estate is trapped between worlds.”

“Oh, like the Vir Dirthara.”

“Yes,” Felassan said, his mouth twisting in a frown. “A bit like that.”

As he led her through, a question that had been bothering her for a while came to mind. “What will happen to places like this, if the Veil is removed? Do you think they’d go back the way they were? Solas seemed to think his memories would be enough to reconstruct it all.” If she'd understood him correctly, anyway. Solas often buried other meanings in the things he told her when they were alone together. She wondered sometimes if he couldn't help himself.

The room they crossed into had four richly ornamented walls, a bubbling fountain and a full suite of handsome couches, but no roof. The sky of the crossroads was just as she remembered it, the sky softly shimmering like a pink and green jewel. The archway in the opposite wall led to another room just as beautiful, and Felassan immediately headed for it.

“I don’t know. Even he doesn’t know, he just thinks it has to be better than what is,” he said.

Ladarelan shook her head, frustrated. “How can he not see he’s repeating his mistakes?”

This made him stop and turn to face her. “He can't see it, because like you, Inquisitor, he believes that because he has the power, he has the responsibility to try to change things. There are times he’s been remarkably wise. He’s right about the Veil. It must go, our people can’t survive like this much longer... but there has to be a better way.”

“How pragmatic. And on that line of thought, you said you had something for me.”

Felassan nodded, his grave expression yet to fade, and led her out to a marble terrace. It overlooked a vast pink abyss, where stones with parts of buildings still attached, floated, and strange unending clouds billowed into each other. Just beyond reach of the terrace rail, some manner of shrub or tree bloomed, its great purple blossoms and leaves sweeping up from beneath them. She wondered what would happen if she tried to bring one back with her.

“Pretty,” she said. Like other parts of the Crossroads she’d been to, this place smelled strongly of spring flowers and fragrant wood. It made her feel alive and strong.

To the right side of the wide terrace, near a set of curved benches, sat a brass-bound chest. Without hesitation, Felassan walked over to it and lifted the lid. Standing beside him, Ladarelan could see inside it—a few gems, several books, and an ornate bottle.

Setting the bottle up on the railing, he dug down deeper into the chest. “There should be something in here you might find useful. It’s not much, but considering you have a hell of a fight in front of you…”

“What does that do?” she asked, pointing to the bottle. 

He snorted and gave her a lopsided grin. “That? That’s just wine, a pre-Veil vintage." 

"Interesting."

"If you drink it, it's likely the last of it. Make sure you're celebrating. You can have access to this place, if you like. An excellent bolthole, as long as you make sure Cylaros out there has plenty of high-quality elfroot for his pipe.”

“Is he—”

“Yes, but remarkably apathetic to current conflicts.”

“Ah. I assume there’s another exit,” she said, pondering just how many of the ancients still walked, and were living their lives quietly.

“I’ll get to that in a moment,” he said, and tugged a scroll from the bottom of the chest, handing it to her. “A map of Arlathan’s main eluvian network as it existed before the Fall. Of limited usefulness, now. Like this place, not every portal is on record, but it might offer some insight on where to look for his troops you might not have considered.”

Ladarelan’s eyes went wide. When she opened the scroll of shimmering vellum, a web of hundreds of silvery lines rose up out of it, seemed to converge into individual branches and trees all across Thedas and places above, below, and even beyond the oceans. Each eluvian was a tiny blue diamond in the web. She brushed her fingers across it, caressing it like the treasure it was. “Why give me this?”

“Because, you give me hope, and you’ve done me several favors—which, I should add, have nothing to do with our fascinating first encounter,” he said, grinning.

“That was nice, though,” she said, and smiled, blushing at the memory. The world certainly seemed far less complicated, back then.

“Very nice.” His face flushed, too, but sensing the nostalgic direction of her thoughts, he looked away. “We should move on. There are multiple levels.”

“Aren’t there always?”

Felassan shrugged. “Sometimes it’s better to know where the floor isn’t there, ahead of time.”

“Yes, that _is_ rather important.” She carefully stowed the map inside her cloak, and then followed him further into the ruined mansion.

 

* * *

 

The entire return trip, she made alone.

Felassan had given her the passwords, a light kiss on the cheek, and left through one of the other eluvians.

If he'd told her the truth, it exited within a history museum in Nevarra. The other would take her to a glassmaker's warehouse in Ansburg.

Ladarelan considered his last words to her, turning them over again and again in her mind.

“The eluvians," he'd said, "Don’t be afraid to break every one of them if you have to—Solas certainly isn’t. But he’ll always leave himself at least one way out. This is yours, don’t sacrifice it lightly.”

Knowing what she was up against, she didn’t plan to.


End file.
